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ABDUCTED GIRL. 



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1832 ]} 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by James J. Harkins, in 
the Office of the Librarian of Congress. 



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Scene Firsts The inside of Lord Attenborough's h(5use, with a 
view of a Park in rear, and a Castle in the distance. 

Enter Lord Attenborough and Lady, who take seats on right 
of room. 

Lord A. — Ha, ha, ha ! I observe our villagers are in holiday 
glee to-day. But this is over, perhaps, some future expectation. 

Lady A. — It is well for them to have a day from the toils of 
the field, but it might also be well to bridle their felicity. 

Lord A.— O ! my dear Lady 

Enter Cyrus through the left door. 

Cyrus — My Lord, the village is alive with excitement in 
anticipation of the marriage of Sir Reuben, your son and their 
benefactor. 

Lady A. — [rising.] — Pray tell me to whom is my son going to 
be married, and froin whom did you get the information ? 

Cyrus. — The informant positively refused to throw any more 
light upon it, but recent events have convinced me that she is his 
father'^ servant, Katie. 

Lady A. — Well, well ! this is enough to break down even the 
most constant. This is astounding. I thought something unnat- 
ural was about to befall me. Now I am convinced by a sad real- 
ization of the fact. — the servant of his father for a wife. Did I 
ever think my only son would betake himself to such a den of 
vice and poverty as this ? 



Lord A. — Many, many a bright, unsullied soul dwells in these 
poor hovels, or imaginary dens of vice and poverty, notwithstand- 
ing the manner in which they may be represented to us. I held 
views similar to yourself, (placing his hand on her shoulder,) and 
in my deniunciation I told him the reward for his conduct in 
acting without his parents consent, would bring upon him confu 
sion and neglect. I also told him he would merit the displeasure 
of yourself and me for ever. But, subsequent events induced me 
to be more lenient. 

Lady A. — So he has his father's approval of his choice ? 
Well, he has not, or will not have his mother's. I will infringe 
upon the right granted him in this case, by using every effort in 
my power to check this rash of his. I am entrusted with his wel- 
fare through all the vicissitudes of life and must save him from 
the life of an everlasting minion. Reflect for a moment of the 
disgrace it will bring upon yourself and your noble ancestors. I 
see that I am now called upon to exercise an instrument which I 
never had occasion to use before. It is necessary that I should 
stay a design which, if carried out, must prove disastrous to our 
general happiness. 

Lord A. — We should endeavor to be reconciled with his choice. 
You remember well the days of our own courtship. Although 
our families were of equal rank, no barrier, however strong, 
could stay that love, which I hope, will carry us down into old 
age, and which we know is infinitely nobler than wealth or fame. 

Lady A. — Your generous language will fall very short of 
exciting any sympathy in me. ThM would have been pleasant 
food for meditation many years ago. Now it is, to me, all a 
fiction. I dare say had you borne the pressure of his future hap- 



piness as keenly as I do, you would not barter away, into the 
hands of ruffians, your whole domain, which should come to him 
as it came to you. We must ijisist upon tearing asunder the en- 
gagement; and also, we should insist upon her rpmoval from this 
house. By virtue of my maternal authority. Miss Hu.lda was to 
be his bride. She is a lady of culture and good parents, if not 
wealthy. Yes, one who, I think, will be more suitable to a 
Knight of his ability. Alas ! did I ever think the friendship with 
Katie would ripen .into love. 

Lord A. — As to her removal from this house, it is useless. 
Love is not lost with sight nor does it gain its height in an instant 
Love, a rosy-cheeked child, is likened to Sol, the great centre of 
the solar system. When seen in the eastern skies he is, to us, 
mild and timid, but at the approach of noon-day the intensity of 
his-heat becomes sometimes unbearable. And, although gradually 
sinking below the western horizon, we should remember that he 
loses not one shadow of his lustre. So it is with love. At first 
approach it is timid, but as time passes away, it grows warmer and 
warmer, till the summit is gained, which is a permanent union. 
You may cause a separation, but, like the sun going into his 
hiding place, he only goes to return another day, perhaps more 
brilliant than oefore. I therefore exhort you to let prudence be 
your guide. 

Lady A. — O mercy ! thus does my every project meet with dis- 
approbation or inadvertance ! To whom shall I now go for con- 
solation ? I will go into seclusion and remain there forever, 
[Exit Lady A. through 1. d.] 

Lord A. — [Solus.] — In congruence with my wife's desire, and 
for the maintjanence of harmony in my house^ I would do any- 



6 

thing in my power, but to the persecution of a poor girl I cannot 
and will not consent. 

Enter Cyrus through L. D. 

Cyrus. — My Lord, two officers of peace are at in the shrubbery 
of the Park and demand admission to the Castle, at the same 
time saying that some miscreant has secreted himst.lf within the 
circuit of its limit. 

Lord A. — Go put them to flight. Disperse them. Do they 
think my house is Goal for villians ? [Exit Cyrus through 1. d.] 

Lord A. - [Solus.] — When Pride, the father of all evil and the 
enemy of mankind, fills the human heart with an over zeal in any 
cause, it destroys the noblest virtue, charity ; and leads its victim 
up the hill of fame tol^he very summit of its ambition. But in 
accordance with the old proverb, '*after pride comes a fall,"* the 
unfortunate is often ignominously hurried down the precipice of 
despair, there to meet with the sneers and rebukes of the multi- 
tude. 

Enter Cyrus through L. D. 

Cyrus. — My Lord it is extremely necessary that you should 
make a personal visit to the spot to prevent their doing mischief, 
as they are becoming boisterous and refuse to be dispersed. 

Lord A. — Rascals, what do they mean ? • 

[Exit Lord A. through 1. d.] 

[Cyrus remains in the room.] 

Cyrus. — [nerveously,] [pulling his coat about him.]— Having 
disposed of his Lordship I will serve my mistress in the capacity 
of an oflScer of the peace. 

[Cyrus then goes to r. d. and admits the two abductors,] 

Cyrus, — Now that you have gained an entrance it is essentially 



important that you should know the way to take your charge 
without the interference of the old Seneschal, who may stop you 
if he sees you, and who is to be walking about the Park. 

Kalph. — [Gruffly.] — We 'ill waste no time with her. She 
better — 

Cyrus. — Hush, hush ! Know you not that the Lord of this do- 
main is, perhaps, within hearing distance of us ? 

Seba. — [Timidly.] — We better have nothing to do with this 
poor girl. 

Ralph. — Ain't we go'en to 'get the bricks for it? I'll have 
somth'en to do with you directly. 

Cyrus. — [Nerveously.] — Come now, for mercy sake do not dis- 
appoint me at this critical moment. 

Ralph. — You gimme the girl, and I'll fix him if he don't help. 

Cyrus. — The work must be done in an artistic manner, and 
with as much haste as possible. I will wear a mask, so that in 
the event of her ever turning up again she cannot recognize me 
as her abductor. 

Ralph.-- -I'll keep her where she '11 not recognize you, I'll bet. 

Cyrus. — Cross the culvert in the Park, down the lane, through 
that little woods at the foot of the hill, and over the torrent. 
Follow out my plan and your escape is certain. 

Cyrus. — [Then takes them to her apartment, and they bandage 
her mouth. She is then taken across the room by Cy., Ral. and 
Seb. Exif through r. d.] 

Enter Cyrus in a great hurry, takes off his mask and readjusts 
his garments. 

Enter Lady A. through 1. d. 

Lady A. — All is consummate. 



8 

Enter Lord A. through 1. d. 

Lord A. — [Rubbing his hands.] — Ha, ha, ha ! the rascals were 
unanimous in their opinion for once, I presume. But they gen- 
erally do be in such cases. 

Cyrus. — Yes, my Lord, I saw them fly in dismay at your 
approach . 

Lord A. — [Handing him a note.] — Give this to the footman, 
tell him to deliver it into hands of the goaler forthwith. 

Exit Cyrus through 1. d. 

Lord A. — [mirthfully.] — My dear lady, you have ostensibly 
recovered from the effect of your little embarassment. Still, I 
venture to say your turbulent spirit will only be satisfied with the 
consummation of some mischief. 

Lady A. — [nervously.] — No, but on the contrary I have given 
my consent and become reconciled by applying your kind words 
as a salve to the wounds which I received upon the first 
announcement of the event ; I have chosen to be her friend and 
protectress, rather than an enemy: 

Lord A. — I am happy to hear you say it. It is in accord with 
the finer teaching of humanity. Burnish a mirror and it will 
smile back with an increased lustre. So it is with a kind word to 
the lowly, it will be a source of consolation, even ih the shadows 
of the darkest hours of life. Come, let us have a stroll in the 
Park? [Exit Lord A. and Lady A. through 1. d.] 

Cyrus. — I wish that inhuman old footman would return with 
an answer, an excuse or something. I suppose he has fallen 
asleep on the way. 

[Enter Tim. through R. D., holding his leg.] 

Cyrus. — How in the mischief did you get in here ? 



9 

Tim. — I clum over the fence. O ha ! I'll iiivir do it ag'in ; [in 
an undertone,] that divil owa dug. 

Cyrus. — Vagabond, never come here again in that way. That 
is the entrance for distinguished visitors and friends of the family 

Tim. — Over the fence. Be dad, [catching his leir,] if they all 
meet the same reception that I did, they paid dear for their 
friendship. 

Cyrus. — Who is that old scoundrel that is with you ? 

Tim. — The messenger sid to send-ush-all, and we all went. 

Cyrus. — Begone from here immediately. If his Lordship 
knew what you were he would send for the robbers, to the exclu- 
sion of you and your illustrious followers. 

Tim. — Sure and I only did phat ye tould me to do. 

Cyrus. — Did he tell you to climb over a mountain of a wall to 
gain access to Lord Attenborough's mansion ? Did he tell you to 
walk right in without admission from any one? 

Tim. — Well, what do you want wid me? 

Cyrus. — I do not want you. Go to Seneschal. 

Tim. — [To himself] — Send-ush-all, send-ush-all, what way will 
I go this time ? 

Cyrus. — Come with me, I will show you an aperture through 
which you can get away. [Exit Cyrus and Tim. through 1. d.] 

Enter Lady A. through C. D., with clasped hands. 

Lady A. — [Solus.] — I perceive this is the time of visitation. 
Like the raging storms over a restless sea do my timely admon- 
itions assail my guilty conscience ! O Heavenly powers assist me 
to bear the bitter anguish that now penetrates my very soul in the 
solitude of the future ! The child whom I loved and cherished 
till old age hath clothed my head in a garment of white has left 



10 

his home, his kindred and his native land for the wilds of an un- 
known clime, there to live out an existence, untold of, perhaps 
unheard of. 

Enter Lord A. through C. D. 

Lord A. — My dear lady your w-alk was short, and, I presume, 
void of all pleasure. What has destroyed that peace which 
outlined your beautiful countenance but such a short time ago? 
Perphaps [placing his hand on her shoulder,] the chilling air is too 
depressing upon you ? Without your presence the Park is, to me, 
like the barren desert. How cold. Pray tell me what your motives 
are for this behavior ? Have I given offense, in any way, if so 
tell me in what manner ? I will rectify any wrong that may 
have been done, at the cost of my whole estate. 

Lady A. — [gravely,] You have done me no harm. Your good 
heart and kind words have always been like that of a noble hus- 
and and a loving father. You are willing, I know to sacrifice 
your whole estate for me. But my trouble is of a nature that 
requires no sacrifices at all ; all the sacrifice is made. 

Lord A. — Ah! [gravely,] be as reluctant as possible. I fear 
something more than ordinary is coming. Something to bring 
remorse and discontent into our once happy home. But tell me, 
that I may condole with you. 

Lady A. — The tortures of your lasting w^ords upon me,with the 
loss of an only son is our future trouble. [She sinks into the chair 
broken down.] 

ACT FIRST. SCENE SECOND. 

[The inside of a barn-like house, with three old chairs and 
table. Katie sitting in the corner.] 



11 

Enter Mother through a side gate. 

Mother.— Yes, she is sick again. Such a lazy hulk, of a girl I 
never saw. Come over here, [gruffly,] and help me to move this 
table about little. When I was your age I had to work like an 
ox. The boys will be in directly for dinner, and I will see if t|iey 
have hired a lady to loaf around here, and their poor old mother 
to kill herself for them. I tell you to come on now and give 
your poor old mother a help. 

Enter Ralph and Seba through side gate. 

Kal. — Well, lazy, sick again? Born sick, I reckon? Oh! 
won't speak, won't you ? Come here, move 'round, will you ? 
You won't be here long 'afore I learn you how to work, you lazy 
hulk. [Giving her a push across the floor.] Mother, git my din- 
ner ready, will you ? 

Mother. — I just want to know if you boys has hired that lazy 
girl for a lady. It's a sliame that your poor old mother has to go 
around working like a slave of Siberia. 

Seb. — It's cruilty in the shape of correction. 

Ral. — Listen to old honey -suckle. You are as bad as she is. 

Seb. — I am only taking the side of a poor, innocent, helpless 
girl against ruffians. 

Ral. — What ! you gurilla. The next time you say that will be 
your last. 

Seb. — No man who claims to have a spark of manhood in his 
body would abuse a girl without friends. 

Ral. — What! do you mean to call me a coward by your double 
mean'en words you pupet ? Git out of my sight, or I will pitch 
you over the wall. 

Mother. — He is good natured where he shoulden't be. If he 



12 

had to struggle about here like his poor old mother does in her 
old age, he'd know how to deal with every old tramp that comes 
around. 

Seb. — [aside,] Poor creature, if she is compelled to remain here 
her lot will certainly be a sad one. I regret, when too late, 
that I ever became a party to such a base scheme as this. Here 
she is sick from fright^ and apparently unconscious of the cuffs and 
abuses that await her. There will be a day of reecitude for all 
this. The Lord of Hosts certainly sees this work with a ke( n 
eye. 

Ral. — [walking over.] Well old woman, are you meditating on 
something sublime, or may I ask you what ? [Stooping gently. 
Turning to Katie.] Well, lazy ^ I am go'en out now. Perhaps 
you will find your tongue by the time I come back? 

[Exist Ral. through side gate.] 

Mother. — If you had married my son you would have had a 
good home and a kind mother. 

Katie. — O mercy ! How could I marry such a man as that ? 
Heaven guard me against such a rash act. A man from 
whom I received little less than the tortures of death. 

Mother. — What! you udent marry my poor son? You rascal. 

[Exit.] 

Seb. — [walking over to Katie.] I am happy to see that you 
are recovering from the shock of your fright. Be cheerful; it is 
hard that is so, but by being patient you will make good your es- 
cape. Should everything else fail, I have devised a plan by 
which your return home is sure. 

Katie. — O ! for pity sake, please tell me before he comes back 



13 

again. And should the wild beasts of the forest devour me in my 
journey I will risk it. 

Seb. — The plan is this : Retire to-night as usual, and with as 
much complacency as possible. When at midnight, through the 
instrumentality of a friend, the village bells, some distance off, 
will be rung, which will immediately bring him to the scene of 
conflagration. Then I will take a board from the top of the 
house and lay it from eaves of the shanty to the wall, so that you 
can walk across and off. [Enter Ral. unnoticed.] 

Katie. — Do ; I implore you to use every plan as tacitly as pos- 
sible. Assist me to return to my home, to my aged mother, her 
to whom I owe my support, and may the intermineable glory that 
awaits the just be your reward. May He, to Avhom all the mys- 
teries of nature belong, strengthen you. And, again, may He 
whom the Heavens and the earth cannot contain^ bless and guide 
you safely through all the vicissitudes of life. This I give you 
from the fullness of a grateful heart. 

Seb. — Be assured that I, under every and all circumstances, 
will be your friend, no matter how trying they may be. 

Katie. — Thank you. You have been the only source of comfort 
I had since the time of my abduction. I wonder that a heart so 
generous as yours could dwell in such a wilderness of ignorance 
iniquity. 

Ral. — [making himself visible.] — You will take a board off the 
roof, will you? [Catches Seb. and throws him across the room.] 
and gives her a slight push. I will attend to the roof and you, 
too. [Katie noticed to be weeping.] 

Seb. — I must put up with your cuffs and abuses, I suppose. 
But I will not see this poor girl knocked around any rpore. I 



14 

will give you all I am worth. [Struggle ensues in which Seba is 
worsted.] 

Enter Mother. 

Mother. — Ralph, what's your brother doing ? 

Ral. — He's laying plans for herto git away. 

Mother. — That's right, give it to 'em then. 

Seb. — Yes, you encourage him, for fear his brutality is not at a 
high enough pitch now. 

Mother. — Well, you should be like a Christian, and do what 
your poor good mother tells you to do. I'm sure I struggle hard 
enough to raise you both and make you smart. 

Ral. — You intend to show fight again, do you ? It's well for 
you that your mother is here, or I would give you something to 
carry all the days of your life. And as for her ; well, she's got to 
stay here all the days of her life. Any- man that 'ill go back on 
his brother and mother is'nt worthy to be called a man. I tell 
you if you help her to get away from here, well, for that offense 
you must die ; and should her village friends find out where she 
is and force in upon us, you must bear the brunt of it as well as 
me. And you, lazy, I am determined that your thoughts will be 
more of an earthly nature by keeping your hands at work. 

Katie. — [timidly.] — It's to be supposed that I must submit to 
that or anything else your Lordship sees fit to impose upon me ; 
it is only one of a whole series of tortures which I have been 
compelled to endure under your unbearable tyranny. But [turn- 
ing aside] how can I hope for any redress for my wrongs here, 
since those in whom I placed my trust have abandoned me in my 
utmost need ? 

Ral.— Do you hear the talk of her ? She cu'ra down from the 



15 

clouds. She must have been learning how to talk from some 
Lord. Well, it's nice to hear her chirp anyhow. 

Mother. — Yes, she can learn a body how to talk, but she can't 
learn you how to work. 

Ral. — [gruffly,] Go out to the pit and git my ax. I don't 
want any moaning about, either. 

[Exit Katie through side gate. Lightning is seen in the 
darkness, and rain falls heavily.] 

Mother. — She -ill get away from us, I tell you, Ralph, I'll go 
out and watch 'er. [Exit.] 

Ral. — I am not afearn of her gite'n aw^ay. 

Enter Katie with ax. 

Ral. — Now sharp it while you are able. We '11 have to take 
'er to tlie burying ground the first place. [To Katie.] Say, lazy, 
if you don't want to forget how to talk you better say somethin'. 
Won't answer, won't you ? 

Seb. — [in low <one.] You are one of the meauest of men. 

Ral.— Well, grumbler, I hear a moan from your corner. 
What's trouble over there? Your mamma's gone out, maybe 
tha's what's wrong with you. She 'ill be in directly, I reckon. I 
am afeard to go out fear you'd take a board off the roof. You 
may take it off when I'm here, but you must learn how to walk 
over me first, and you was'nt born to do that. 

Enter Mother, in a hurry. 

Mother. — [excitedly.] — Ralph, Ralph, an armed body of men's 
scoutin' the woods for this hulk of a girl. Put her out ; hurry, 
put her out. [Sensation.] 

Ral. — Bolt the door, quick. 



16 

Mother. — They'll kill the man that has her. I always tried to 
be kind and motherly to her, 

Ral. — I was'nt, and never will be. Let them come. I'll take 
it for the best and look for the worst. The man that breaks open 
that door must suffer the penalty, which is nothing short of his 
life. Make ready there, granny, to fight the battle. Every man 
should fight for the protection of his home. 

Seb. — Your time is well nigh run. I have been your friend and 
accomplice in all the diabolical acts which you have committed in 
these woods, but you, by your brutality to that poor, lone girl 
have revealed to me the light of a new life. 

Ral. — Ay, theu, you'r not go'en to help me if they find us. 
You are as bad as me, and you must bear the result of youi work 
too. 

Seb. — If I must sufier, it will not be in defense of your cruelty. 

Ral. — Ah, lad, you might as well die game as die like a^deser- 
ter. [Loud noise heard from the outside. Cries of here she is, 
here she is.] 

The door is burst open. Enter William. 

Bill. — O Katie ! bless your dear little heart I thought IM 
see your face again. How are you anyhow ? Which of these is 
the man who took you from your poor old mother. [Kate points 
out Ralph.] 

Bill — Villain what right had you to take this girl away from 
her home ? 

Ral. — I had the right that allows a man to break into my house 
witout my permission. I have another right [pulling out a large 
knife] which is the common right of every man in this country. 

Bill. — I will contest your right to do such tricks as this for the 



17' 

future. If your fashion of dgiug things meets with success, then 
it is not my fault. 

Ral. — I tell you to git out or your life's not worth the time it'll 
take to give it flight. The man was never knowen about this 
country to enter Ralph Browe's shanty without the loss of his 
life* Curse the impudence of the man [preparing for the final 
struggle] that burst the door of my shanty. Should this act of 
cowardice of mine find it's way through the surroudi^ig country 
on me I am done for. You must pay for — [Rushes at Bill in a 
rage, but before he has time to use his weapon Seb. springs on 
his back and tightly holds his arms, while Bill, takes his knife 
and is about to deal him a blow, but suddenly throwing up hi 
arms he say?: '* Ah ! villain your life belongs to me. Will you 
beg for mercy. 

Ral. — There beats a heart within my bosom that was never 
knowen to yield to any man. So plunge your cursed steel as I 
would. As for mercy I know it not. 

Bill. — [Throwing the weapon down] My heart fails me ; I 
know you deserve it but I cannot, 

ACT FIRST, SCENE THIRD. 

[The outside of Sir Henry Rollin's house and a portion of (he 
Park. with fence and gate on the right. On the left hand a tree 
wdth a rustic seat beneath it. 

Enter Sir Reuben from Park. 

Reuben [Solus] Ah me! are my senses right or am I only en- 
joying the sweet visions of childhood's slumber ? Many years ago 
I spent the delights of my youth in yonder Mansion. There I 
received all the fondness and tenderness that could emanate from 



18 

a Mother's heart. But alas ! a change came, I loved, for which 
I paid the severest penalty. Yes*I incurred upon myself the 
.heaviest denunciation from one whom, to me, anything else but 
love seemed at variance with human nature. And during this 
period of time I've not had the pleasure to behold for once the 
countenance of the one for whom I have undergone all the hard- 
ships and privations to which unsettled man is subjected to. 
Well it takes all such things, perhaps, to make up an eventful 
life. [Looking anxiously] The administrator of my father's es- 
tate made an appointment to meet me here at noon, in conse- 
quence of which I must while the time as well as I can. 
[He takes the rustic seat under the tree.] 
Enter Admr. 

Admr. — Happy to meet you this morning. [Shaking hands.] 
Sir Reuben — Hearing of the demise of my parents and know- 
ing myself to be the only heir to their vast domain, I deemed it 
highly prudent to investigate all the peculiar circumstances con- 
3iected with it and if possible, to reinstate myself in the old domi- 
cile. For this object have I traveled from the remotest part of 
Christiandom. 

Admr. — Your parents' will is in perfect accord with your cause. 
Your mother repented bitterly of her hasty action, and your 
good old father confident of his son's returning home some day, 
left his whole domain in readiness for that end. But that is not 
all: the general belief that you are dead (caused by your myster- 
ious disappearnce and long absence) has been confirmed by the 
lady now occupying your father's house. "She and you," so th« 
story runs, *Svere married and lived happily together, as all newly 
married couples do live, when suddenly you became dizzied with 



19 

the flattering words of other women and forgetful of your nuptial 
promises, abandoned her. But she, aftter the elapse of considera- 
ble time, fully convinced of your unhappy fate married again." 
Her husband is a man, haughty and if necessary desperate. 
Knowing as I do his character and the result that must follow a 
reverse of this kind, I almost dread the undertaking. 

Sir Reuben — May I advance a plan by which your person will 
be free from danger ? 

Admr. — It would be very appropriate under the present cir- 
cumstances, though I see no way to avoid it. 

Sir Reuben — Yes, here is a plan, meet the man before night- 
fall; tell him confidentially that you have left the necessary docu- 
ments with the rightful heir, which will naturally cause the chan- 
nel of his vengeance to flow upon me, for be it understood that, 
should the haznrd of a life be necess^ary, or any other contingency, 
my desire is that I should bear it. 

Admr. — To say nothing of your courage, I admire the ex- 
tremes to which you would resort for my personal safety. But, 
would it not be in the highest degree deplorable in me to desert 
the executive duties that I so faithfully promised to carry out to 
the best of my ability? However, it may be necessary to divert 
his mind, you may avail yourself of this opportuuity to meet him 
I will let you carry out your plan and await future developments. 
[Exit Admr. gives him papers] 

Sir Reu. — [Solus] Now it might be fitting to search the one 
for whom my heart has yearned so long. 

Enter Kate unnoticed and takes seat under tree. 

Kate— Lul, lul, lul, lah! [Dolefully] 

Sir Reu. — [Looking anxiously] Ah ! by the sparkle of her eye, 



20 

that is she now. Or perhaps it is some Etherial foci that I see, 
a hidden treasure which is again only to fade away, (approach- 
ing,) May I intrude upon your kindness by requesting your 
name and from whence you came? 

^ate. — (Reluctantly) My name is Katie Durose. 

Sir Reu. — (Anxiously) Katie Durose? Katie Durose? 

Katie. — Yes, sir. 

Sir. Reu. — (with a sigh.)— Ah ! I thought it was. May I ask 
where your present home is? 

Katie — In yonder Mansion, (moving away.) 

Sir. Reu. — (Suddenly) back again to the old domicle f Do you 
ever expect to meet again the friend you once had in yonder 
Mansion? 

Katie. — (Cheering up) O ! I would be so rejoiced to see him 
once again, but (saddening) I fear I never shall. 

Sir. Reu. — (handing her a letter) This may remind you of 
things come and gone. This is the last one I ever had the pleas- 
ure to receive from you, 

Katie — (Astonished) From me! Is it possible that you are 
Reuben Atten borough? 

Reu. — You have said it right (They embrace.) 

Katie. — This brings back to me those happy days with so many 
pleasant recollections, that I almost wish they had never passed. 

Sir Reu. — I assure you my heart never forgot you. I was 
about to search every nook and corner in the whole village for 
you, and were I to gain my former standing, renew if possible the 
old friendship which, I presume, is not dead but only sleeping. 

Katie. — Should the elements that prompted me to love you grow 
cold and lifeless from the fact of your slight embarrassment or at 



21 

the approach of poverty, they would be but a mockery and un- 
worthy of the name. No, the motives that prompted you to 
sacrifice so much are toorare a jewel to pass without a recompense. 

Sir Reu. — Ah! then I may well conclude that the old love, 
which slept so long, is still there with all that innocent grandaiSr 
which so often indelibly stamps the countenance of the virtu- 
ous. 

Katie. — You well know it. 

Reu. — Ah well ! I don't regret all that I may have gone 
through for you, for it was a worthy object. You shouldn't have 
spoken; your actions told me. 

Katie. — O happy spot, yet it cost many tears. 

Sir Reu. — But was not the cause a good one ? 

Katie. — Ah was it. 1 mingled ray sorrow witb yours because I 
knew or believed you must have met with a sad end. 

Sir. Reu. — Though kind Providence preserved my life, yoa 
may well suppose that my cast was a hard one. Still knowing 
the meaning of your last words as I did my consoling hope- of 
another happy meeting was of the most assuring nature. When 
I say anotner happy meeeting I mean the one that lasts forever 

Katie. — Did you not think that, forgetting my promise, I 
I'^might marry another? 

Sir Reu. —The thought never crossed my mind, [taking her 
hands] Having to fill a engagement which I just made previous 
to our meeting a brief leave of absence must be. Farewell. 

[Exit Sir Rueben through 1. s.] 
Enter Bill from right. 

Bill. — [with enthusiam] O Katie, how glad I am to see you 
again ! 



22 

Katie. — [gladly] Dear cousin Bill, guess who came back to 
the village. 

Bill.— Who ? 

Katie — Sir Reuben Attenborougb, he who left his home so 
long ago. O do you mind the good old times he, you and I used 
to have jumping fences, climbing trees and leaping ditches? Do 
you mind how we used to watch the big wheel at the grist-mill 
r-r-r-r-r-r-r and how we used to splash to water to get the mil- 
ler to race us. 

Bill. — [seriously] Yes. I'll never forget the last splashing. 
He caught me the day aftei it. You did the splashing and 
he caught me for it. But when did he come back ? 

Katie. — The dear fellow; only a couple of days ago. I call 
him fellow because I am so familiar with him. 

Bill. — You'r getin' so particular about your talking, that I 
can't have the good old time fun we us't to have. Them days 
you us't to say him and me. 

Katie.— [seriously] O yes Bill. I am always your cousin and 
friend anyhow. 

Bill. — Ha ha ha; that will be another holiday for us anyhow. 
We 'ort to have the old donkey agin. 

Katie — [in an undertone] What did you do with that old 
donkey you used to try to ride ? 

Bill. — You was right that time, [with an air of triumph.] 

Katie.— Why? 

Bill. — Well we could never ride him. 

Katie — Well what did you do with him? The poor old crea- 
ture. 

Bill — [seriously] Well we started to back one day; and 



23 

he backed; and he backed till he backed under the mill-wheel. 

Katie — Poor old thing we used to have more fun trying to ride 
him. I am so sorry. 

Bill — O that's nothing all our family was that way; our family 
don't notice that much. 

Katie — Ha, ha, ha, he, he, he ! 

Bill — Katie sing me one of them songs you ust' to sing us in 
the meadows after harvest time. 

Katie — [snickering and laughing.] Can't Bill. 

Bill — Why ? [looking in her face] 

Katie — Had no business to back that donkey under the wheel 
so you had'nt. 

Bill — Ha, ha, ha, ha, crying about the donkey. 

Song by Katie. 

Katie — What did you do with the turkey gobbler that aunt 
used to have ? 

Bill — It's up there yet. 

Katie — I would have gone up there many a time had it not 
been for that old thing. Last time I went out there it raced me 
all over the cornfields. 

Bill — VVe'r goin to have a raisin' out there to-morrow, and if 
you come I'll tell Liz so that she can have her gingham suit done 
up in time. 

Katie — Poor Liz. I thought that you would have married her 
long before this time. You mind the day you kissed her, aha ! 
You thought we did'nt see you. You don't mind that? I intend 
to tell aunt the very next time I go up. 

Bill — That was the day she fainted. That didn't make her 
faini. She fell and hurt her foot. 



24 

Katie — [emphatically] No wonder. O ! do you mind the feet? 

Bill — [bashfully] I never looked at her feet. 

Katie — They were ponderous. If she wasn't a big strong girl 
she couldn't carry them. 

Bill — Come out to-morrow with me and you and Liz shall have 
a hunkey time, [bouncing around. 

[Cyrus comes from the house and catches him jumping about] 

Cy. — Have you nothing else to do except lounging about with 
every old beggar that comes within the limits of the village ? 

Katie — [timidly] This is my cousin. 

Cy. — I don't care who he is. Your Mistress needs you. 
[Exit Katie in the house and Bill through the park.] 
En<er Sir Henry Eollins. 

Sir Hen. — [angrily] Some measure conducive to tranquility 
must be taken forthwith, [saddening] But, Alas ! to check 
the villains in their design to deprive me of my estate, is some- 
thing with which I am done. 

Cy. — The audacity of the scoundl'el is startling. 

Sir Hen. — Sure I am told that he is but a mere inventive genius 
who, in conjunction with an alleged administrator, has devised a 
plan by which they can depose of me and gain a prize. 

Enter Administrator, whose presence is ignored by Sir 
Henry. 

Amr. — Happy mprning. I came expressly to inform you that 
by the urgent request of my client, I have entirely given up the 
prosecution of this case. 

Sir Hen. — You made a serious mistake by starting it. What 
have you done with the alleged documents you held ? 

Admr. — Believing him to be the only son of the late Lord At- 



25 

tenborough and the rightful heir to his father's estate I delivered 
all the necessary papers into his hands. 

Sir Hen. — Be consistent for once in this preverse attitude 
which you have taken and give me those documents to the ex. 
elusion of that inveterate villain with whom you have united 
yourself to accomplish my ruin; give them I say for your life's 
sake. 

Admr. — Believe me the papers are with the owner. 

Sir Hen, — [looking carefully around] Give me those papers 
or, by hell and vengeance I will be a rut in which the wheels of 
your life shall stick fast. 

Admr. — Ah ! the risk is your own I am not to be deterred 
from the sense of right by your threats or entreaties. I must ex- 
ecute faithfully to the best of my ability the duties imposed upon 
me by his worthy parents, which I did by transmitting to hira his 
father's will* 

Sir Hen. — [excitedly] Whose parents? Utter that word no 
more. You have presumed to much on my already overtaxed 
patience. [Rushes into the house in great excitement followed 
by Cyrus.] 

ACT FIRST, SCENE FOURTH. 

The inside of Sir Henry's room with background scenery. 

Enter Sir Henry after the assassination of Admr. in the 
backgrounds. 

Sir Hen. [Solus]— [wringing his hands in despair] What ! is it 
possible that I must plunge deeper into the mire ? Is my soul 
not now too much blackened with the charge of innocent blood ? 
Ah \ cruel destiny ! The tide moves to' and fro- and all the 



26 

mighty elements of nature seem to change at times, but he upon 
whom fate lays his iron hand is at once the victim of the invinci- 
])le and the slave of the incomprehensible. I have been inveigled 
into the committal of this crime by some perfidious imp who now 
foreshadows my utter ruin and who, by his taunts, racks my 
brains by night and disturbs my peace by day. Alas ! perhaps 
the solitude of the tomb will afford me some relief since every 
earthly measure sec ms to have faded away, [walks backward and 
forward rapidly.] 

Enter Cyrus through K. D. 

Cy. — [excitedly.] —A terrible murder has just been perpretrat- 
ed, over which there hangs a profound mystery. I expect a gen - 
eral uproar in the village as soon as the fact becemes generally 
known. 

Sir Henry. — In what district was thig murder committed ? 

Cy. — Just over yonder, within the limits of this Barony. 

Sir Henry. — [quickly,] — Upon whom does suspicion rest ? 

Cy. — Believing your tormentor to be the guilty person, and 
fearing that any suspicion might rest upon yourself, with the ad- 
mitted fact of his being with him last, I had the villian safely 
incarcerated to await developments. 

Sir Henry. — [confidently.] — Your intentions w^ere, I know, al- 
ways directed in my interest, for which good service I will intrust 
to you the secret, but you must promise me eternal secresy. 

Cy.— To you I do. « 

Sir Henry. — Fully confident of his having all the papers be- 
longing to the estate, and under the impression that he meant to 
do me all the evil he could, I had to resort to this extreme method 
for my immediate protection. But upon searching deceased I 



27 

discovered that, true to his word, he had either misplaced or 
tiirued them over to the villian whom you have imprisoned. Now 
then ray only hope is his removal, which I fear, will be the most 
difficult task of all. 

Cy. — That is impossible. Had I done my best I could not 
have placed him in a safer spot. 

Sir Henry. — Something must be done from this state of affairs. 
— [suddenly.] — To the goaler ; demand the person of the intrud- 
er, take him to yonder woods, and there despatch him. 

Cy. — [gloomily.] — Ah ! But I fear I shall never get him from 
the goaler. 

Sir. — Demand him in the name of the law. Take plenty of 
help with you and he will know no better; if it need be force, use 
it. 

Cy. — I fear the feasability of such a project is too uncertain, 
ah, too uncertain. 

Sir Henry. — What ! am I to suffer a silent rebuke from the one 
to whom I have intrusted ?-^Does the one upon whom I h.ive 
conferred every blessing, except life and light from Heaven at 
last find a flaw in my administration ? Perhaps this signifies 
more than I understand. 

Cy. — Permit me to assure you that on the contrary, you have 
my heart and hand at any moment; but under the present cir- 
cumstances I regret ray inability to coraply with your present de- 
mand. It is useless for me to say I ara always willing to obey 
your most trivial orders ; you have every proof of that. But by 
insolently demanding him I might get what you little think of in 
your haste. I will get him by tact if I can. But everything else 
to my mind, is hopeless. 



28 

Sir Henry. — [emphatically,] — You may use stratagem, but by 
stratagem or no stratagem, the invidious wretch must be removed. 
To be lenient with him would encourage him and annihilate the 
zest that demands his immediate destruction. Then go ; remem- 
ber the injunction, for should you fail to carry it out, then 
Heavens above help us I But this is no time for repining. What 
we need is a lasting determination to place his vociferous soul in 
the clutches of his eternal enemy. "I do swear by all the Sacred 
hosts — 

Cy. — Don't, don't charge your poor soul with that which it may 
may never be able to pay, I entreat you. 

Sir Henry.— We must form a precipice, down which all his 
aspiring ambition must plunge ; the timely casting of the net into 
which his unparelled audacity must enter is a matter, to me, of 
the gravest importance. And the worl£ will admit of no delay, 
either. May the devil, with one hundred legions enter this de- 
partment and take — 

Cy. — YouVe 8aid enough ; your ofdere will be,without scruple, 
executed ; bring no more curses upon us. I've served you faith- 
fully for this number of years, and that which sprang from a cold 
friendship to an ardent love will not forsake you now. N.o ; I am 
your friend in this trial as in every other. 

Sir Henry. — Thank, my hearty thanks ; you have saved me 
more than gold ; your friendship is worthy of the King himself. 

Cy. — [placing his hands on his shoulders,] — If I fail you will 
forgive me ? You know now jny heart is with you. 

Sir Henry. — For Heaven's sake don't say fail ; that means 
death. 



29 
Exit Cyrus. 

Sir Hen. — [Solus,] — [disdainfully.] — 
Is the scepter'd monarch with all the plebeians to rule ? 
If so what care I for the pomp and lustre of 
Mammon ? It is sad to send two souls to perdition 
I know% but to undo what has been done can I ? 
Ah ! even the smiles of my lady seem base now in trouble, 
But seek not repose, my soul, till you gain your worthy prize. 
Rather would I be a vulture and give the wild beasts, o^n^^ 

Then even to share my estate with the minion of a minion. 
But as the clouds of despair deepen about me I almost 
Wish to discumber myself of this charge, but no, 
Be it as I said ; let no compassionate land move. 
Nor will the flame of passion cease till his doom is sealed. 



SCENE FIRST. 

The inside o( the Gaoler^s Cottage, with prison in the back. 

Timothy O'Rouric. — Be'gorra, IVe been gaoler for more than 
one score ten year', and I must confess that I niver had such a 
noice gintleman under the roof of this prison before. Bud, ah, 
the rascal, he's come down a peg in the world. Sure he was once 
tho pet of the village, but now, the low catifF, he's by his unman- 
ageable temper, brot on himself the just vengence of Law. Be' 
the back of me neck, I'd rather be the gaoler in his little cottage 
with his little family and the ould woman to look after things 
when I am — [going down in pocket.] 



30 

Old woman. — [with a sigh.] — When you're drunk. 

Tim. — Phat? It's mesel' that will bate that ould woman if she 
don't stop abusin' her poor husband in this manner. 

Old woman. — You bate me once, and that was the time you got 
me. No woman ever got bate so bad as I did in you. I could 
have married better if I had'nt met you. 

Tim.— it's mesel' that has a heavy charge when I have you at 
my back. 

Old woman. — Oc' quit your Waging. Phat's the charge against 
the prisoner. ^ 

Tim. — The same that ought to be against yonrsel'. You have 
your poor ould husband murthered. 

Old woman. — Oc' now, phat is it Tim. 

Tim. — Did I not till you it wus murder it is. He's goen' 
throug a course of lipigation wud Sir Henry Rollins over be'ant^ 
there, and, to make sure work of it, he murdered the man that 
had all the documents. 

. Old woman — It's not lipagation. It's litegation or leneation 
or phat ever the divel they call it. 

Tim, — Don't I tell you don't be contradicen' me like that 
again. I teached in the big college before I left home and was 
conceded the fiist prize for grammar and some philologist. Now 
I must submit to your contradicting me in this manner.[Exit Old 
woman in anger.] 

Tim. — I'm like a bird out owa cage when that ould woman 
laves me. [Song by Tim.) 

Enter Cyrus through L. D. • 

. Cy. — Gaoler, you look happy as lark this evening. But that 
is no wonder you are always happy. Have you still your prisoner? 



31 

Tim. — Yes sir, there he is behind the bars. 

Cy. — My master in moment of mirth tenders you, through me, 
his hearty congratulation for the able manner in which you have 
kept control of this audacious character and cruel monster in the 
shape of man. He also says that it is safe to say before I take 
him from you that our envied gaoler is the happiest and best fel- 
low that ever held the gaoleship in this village. 

Tim. — And phare are you ^oing to take him to? 

Cy. — My instructions were to convey him to the seat of govern- 
ment and obtain a speedy trial, conviction, and punishment for a 
crime so odius to the peasantry of this shire that I fear the prison 
may be broken open at any moment and the prisoner taken out 
thereby defeating the ends of the law. 

Tim. — (in deep meditation) Well-that-lukes-like-a-very 
plausible- story if-I-was-sure- it- would-be- right— to-let-pris- 
oner-go. 

Sir Reu. — [who speaks from behind the prison door.] — Gaoler 
retain your charge to the last. He is but the instrument of an 
enemy who seeks my life. He has a number of men in yonder 
cut [pointing out] awaiting a signal from him to come and take 
me. If you deliver me up to him you are culpable for my death. 

Cy. — You must not heed him. This is a matter of time with 
him. He is getting free lodging. I was also instructed to give 
you liberal compensation as a mark of his kind appreciation and 
for the further fulfilment of the duties that may be imposed upon 
you. 

Tim. — Well, well, \yell. I've been gaoler for meny, raeny 
years, and this is something I never saw yet, to send the gaoler 
money for holding the prisoner. Phy don't you git a written or- 



32 

dei* from him so that I can convince everybody that I was acting 
under the instructions of my superior. [Gaoler turns around to 
his table and Cy. looks savagely at him.] 

Cy. — Then having been gaoler for more than twenty-five years 
you never were fortunate enough to receive his good grace before? 
[Handing him the money.] 

Tim. — Be me conscience, If I'd take that I could not rest to- 
no'it. 

Cy. — [surprised,]-— Then you reject the bounty of him to whom 
you owe your very existence? You miserable minion, stand aloft 
in bold defiance of a man who's power and wealth may be trans- 
mitted from land to sea ? This man must submit to delay to satisfy 
your superstitious exactions ? Mark you, should I be compelled 
to return for a written mandate vou shall bring upon yourself the 
displeasure of his honor, with all the evils that may follow it. 

Tim. — I only ax him to give me his word and honor on paper^ 
that I've done my duty as far as I was able, and that he is respon- 
sible for the prisoner after he leave here. And awisha, that's not 
too much for him anyhow. 

Cy. — [looking cautiously about him.]^Here, [pulling out a bag 
of money,] you may have your price. Let me have prisoner and 
you need never be a gaoler any more. You can go to your native 
land and live sumptuously in the whole. You may have every- 
thing your heart may wish for. All this blessing I lay before you 
for the use of your keys. 

Tim. — Faith it's not a blessing it wud be at all, at all, but a 
curse. Do you mean to entice me from the faithful discharge 
of my duties ? 

Cy. — [moving back,] — Understand me, it is not a bribe ; I give 



33 

you this out of ray own personal property to save me tbe delay 
my going back will cause. 

Tim. — Yow must give me some security for I he prisoner 'afore 
you can git him. 

Cy. — Then to parcipitate the animosity between you, I must go 
through the desired formality, which yoit have juRt laid out for 
me. * 

Tim. — Yes, so that I in the meantime may detarmine what 
course to pursue, as this is a case of more than ordinary interest 
to the denezens of our quaint little village. [Exit Cy. L. D., 
looking vengeance at Tim.] I could'nt depend much on me own 
jurisprudence, bud me humble opinion is that this is a clear case 
of bribery. Be gob, [bolting the door and closing the aperature 
through whicii the prisoner spoke,] IMl take special care of the 
prisoner for the future. 

Enter Katie through R. D. 

Katie. — [timidly] — Gaoler may I see your prisoner ? 

Tim. — Oc' now, phat does a noice little girl like you want to 
see such a villian like that for? A pretiy girl like you running 
after a murderer! Woulde'nt it do you to luke at mesel ? [brac- 
ing up] Sure, and it's sorry I am, dear, that I can't accommodate 
^'ou this time. But phat do you want wid him anyhow ? 

Katie. — [timidly] — My business is of such a nature as to per- 
mit me to confide it to him alone. 

Tim. — Have you a lathur to give him ? [putting his hand over 
his face.] 

Katie. — No sir. 

Tim. — [in an undertone,] — Is he your husband ? 

Katie. — No sir. 



34 

Tira. — And phat Iq the iiame of sinces do you want wid him ? 

Katie. — [fretfully,] — I would ranch rather impart this import- 
ant information to himself. O please do let me converse with him 
one minute. Every moment you detain me hurrys him nearer 
and nearer to the hands of a voracious enemy whom I know to 
have laid plans for his murder. 

Tim — .For his murder? • 

For his murder? O now, you mean for his removal from 
prison. Who could be at the bottom of this horrible maneuver? 

Katie. — Will you protect me should they discover the object of 
my errand here to-night? 

Tim. — Be the hokey smokey I will as long as I am able to 
stand up. All I want is a chance to die for some noice girl. 

Katie. — (cautiously, looking around,) Then should Cyrus Old- 
burn, with a number of men, come to-niglit, and, under the cloak 
of authority, demand your prisoner, you may be sure that he is 
bent on the work of his ruin. So I entreat you, under these dis- 
tressing circumstances, to use every and all means in your power 
to defeat him iu the base scheme which they have just devised to 
take the life of an innocent man. But [in an undertone] such 
w^ealth and influence are invaribly destined to supass the harmless 
endeavors of the poor gaoler. May I again ask your permission 
to ^ee him ? I fear you won't be successful in your attempt to 
hold him, and my most anxious desire is to see him once more. 
Just please give me this one opportunity to converse with him. 
(A noise is heard from the outside.) 

Katie. — (suddenly,) — O gracious ! there he is now. I must fly 
for my life. 

(Exit Katie through r. d.) 



35 

Tim. — Let her story be true or uutruje, I must hold the prison- 
er. My only hope now is to depend on the volunteers. One tap 
of the tower bell will bring me all the assistance I nade. (taps 
the bell. Enter villagers.) 

Vill.— What's— what's the matter ? 

Tim. — Now, stand out in the coroder and await my signal. 
Enter Cyrus through L. D. 

Cy. — (unsuspectingly,) — What are those men loitering about 
the corridors for? 

Tim. — Them men are there to aid the gaoler iti the execution 
of his duties and for the preservation of law and order. 

Cy. — Very good, sustain the cause of right and justice, and, as 
you have gained favor with my master you will gain the respect 
and admiration (>f the entire populace. Here (puilinii; a paper 
froirf his breast,) is the note that his Honor sent you. I anticipat- 
ed his bitter denunciation of you for your misconduct, but, to my 
Surprise he smilingly tells me that he highly commends your con- 
stancy. That he attributes it to the practical manner in which 
you are compelled to deal with your boisterous prisone»-s. He 
also tells me that a true spirit of patriotism always outlines your 
every action, which is more sublime in you, a foreigner, and in 
your humble station in life than it would be in the crowned heads 
of Monarchs, who Kingdom in nearly every case is their all. g^ 

Tim. — [holding the note up,] — Phat dus that say ? I can't 
start it. If I could start it I'd be all right. 

Cy. — Perhaps you don't understand it. [Taking it from him.] 
It's contents an. as follows : Gaoler, I heartily commend your 
stability in performing what you deem to be your duty, but upon 
presentation of ;his note, deliver up, forthwith, all right and 



36 

authority to retain the prisoner any longer. Now sir, you have 
the honor of detaining him for want of formality, an act few but 
yourself, under similar circumstances, could safely attempt. 
Tim. — Give me the lathur till I see yeu again. 

Cy. — [with petulence,] — You don't need it. I did this only for 
formality sake, and to teach others to respect your authority. 

Tim. — [emphatically] — Now I am convinced that your business 
is dark and your pretended anthority void. Before I would'ent 
give you the prisoner without an order, now I'm detarmined, by 
the support of these citizens who stand outside in the coroders in 
readiness for my signal, to hold the prisoner at the imminent risk 
of my life. 

Cy. — [in a rage,] — What, sir, do you still persist in your preverse 
ways, notwithstanding the commands and entreaties of your 
superior? Do you mean to arrogate supremacy, or what may I 
infer from this inexplainable conduct? Do you not acknowledge 
the validity of his commanding you to obey him, or has your 
stupendous ignorance so blinded you as to render you senseless 
altogether? There will be no more formality used to humor you 
in your astounding grasp for legal authority. Well, I must say 
you are a highly qualified object for a kingdom. Your very ap- 
pearance bespeaks an abundance of nothingness with little or no 
aspiration for even ordinary civilization. Under these circum- 
stances the purple robe and diadem would handsomely become 
such a direful insignificance. 

Tim. — [sharply] — Be the bulk owa tub I'm now the Monarch 
of meown house, and not a slave to the opinions of any man. I 
know the poor ould gaoler may take to his heels as soon as an op- 
pertunity presents its'sel', bud sure I'd rather sacrifice ray position 



37 

than me conscience ony time. I'd be afeard the divil 'ud gall up 
off wud me before morning' if I'd do that. 

Cy. — [aside in an undertone,] — \Vho the devil could have in- 
formed this incorruptible idiot of my design? [aloud] I have 
heen empowered by a man of authority to obtain the prisoner at 
any hazard, and, in obedience to him, you must deliver him up. 
I will not be detered by an an indolent, stupid fellow who knows 
not the moment his senses will leave him. It now becomes evi- 
dent that I must impart to you the fact that for your contumaci- 
ous action I could, in as much time as it takes to tell you, call in 
the soldiers and take possession of yourself and prisoner together 

Tim. — [emphatically] — It's yoursel' that ought to be in prison 
instead of me. The ould ,woman has enough to do wid out at- 
tendn' to my duties phen her poor ould husband is in prison. 

Cy. — Am I to hear you say again, as emphatic as ever, that, 
regardless of my commission, you do hold and will maintain the 
right to hold the prisoner ? 

Tim. — Yes, you think ould Tim's stupid, bud he knows that la- 
ther is no use to him widu* a name to it. Sure and they 'udent 
know bud it cum from the old divil himsel'. 

Cy. — When I positively declare that this letter is from Sir 
Henry Rollins to you, do you boldly and in addition to the 
numerous indignities already offered, openly doubt my veracity ? 

Tim. — Yes; the lathur may be from him, bud he either forgot 
to put his name to it, or you,*to*save your thrip back, made it 
youisel'. 

Cy. — The exigencies of this case will permit of no more delay. 
So come now, give me the object of my errand. 



38 

Tim. — [with a sneer,] — Nivir, sir, on a reccommendation like 
that. 

Cy, — [in anger,]— Curse your odious jibes, I have put forth 
every and all the reason at ray command to quiet your 
conscience, as I thought that was the trouble, but no, you still defy 
me. [He takes, by force, the keys which hang by Tim's side, but 
before he has time to open the door, the bell is tapped, to which 
the volunteers rush in, and Cyrus out through 1. d.] 

Tim. — Pursue him, pursue the villian, I am kilt from him ! 
[Making wild gestures] It's mesel' that bate that gintleuian owa 
I wanted too. 

ACT SECOND, SCENE SECOND. 

A romantic spot within a small wood, a willow tree overhang- 
ing a deep and rocky ravine, through \Vhich a tot rent flows from 
the background, in front and under is a tree, a table and papers, 
at which are seated Lord Allison and a number of vassal 
Knights. 

Enter Sir Henry Rollins and Cyrus Oldburn thro' L. D. 

Lord Allison. — Welcome, my happy friend, welcome! [rising 
from his seat to greet them.] Your grasp seems cold ; your coun- 
tenance dismal. 

Sir Henry Rollins. — -Be assured, ray Lord your courtesy is 
heartily received. If I could but express ray innermost thoughts 
as they rest within my bosom you would fully comprehend how 
lasting the friendship I bear tliee! 

Lord Allison. — Though something strange has overcome you I 
know your sentiments are good. [To guards.] Bring forth your 
prisoner. 



39 
[Enter prisoner, with a guard on each side of him.] 

Lord Allison — Prisoner come forward. It has been ordained 
for many of the ages of this world, that life should be taken for 
life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Hence in the name of 
his supreme Majesty and in pursuance of this decree, we will use 
our utmost efforts to fathom out this mystery and mfel^out the 
guilty the just penalty for his transgression of the law. [The de- 
position is next road] In accord to with the fact testified, to that 
on the Western borders of Henry Rollin's Park close by the 
torrent the mangled and bleeding form of Quartus Mathen, our 
most worthy citzen, has been found showing evidence of a dark 
murder. [To prisoner] The supposed cause of your having 
committed this terrible crime is that on the eve of your intended 
plunder in order that you might abrogate your voluntary promise 
to equal shares, you came to a pretended disagreement with the 
aforsaid appalling result. 

Cy. — My Lor<l, besides this it is said, he acted in prison as 
though the enormity of his crime so preyed upon his mind as to 
bring on spasmodic convulsions in which he confessed his guilt 
and begged pitifully for the mercy of the Court. 

Lord Allison — His strange attire on the evening of the murder 
is now explained. 

Cy. — Yes, and that is not all, my Lord his anxious inquiries 
while in prison about the feeling of the peasantry towards him, 
with his numerous confessions in his moments of despondency 
leaves not the possibility of a doubt as to who is guilty. 

Sir Hen. — My Lord, chancing to be on my battlements at the 
time of this unfortunate occurrence, and attracted by the cries of 



40 

the victim, I saw the flight of a man whom upon close observa- 
tion I recognized to be our culprit. 

Lord Allison — Then from the view you had of the surrounding 
hamlets, you could very easily have seen him in the act. 

Sir Hen. — My Lord the extreme darkness of the wood with 
the sombre shadows of a September's evening alone prevented 
my seeing him commit the deed, though I doubt not his being 
the man. 

Cy. — I am told My Lord his every word and action, since the 
crime became publicly known, betrays that of a guilty conscience 
and a branded villain. I have myself been watching for a fort- 
night or more, his loitering about the parks as though he was 
bent on some diabolical work unknown to everybody save him- 
self. 

Lord Allison — [to prisoner] What are we to hear from you in 
reply to these prepared charges? Can you remain unmoved to 
all this? ^I^now you not your life is in jeopardy for this brutal 
crime ? 

Sir Reu. — Should I speak 1 would protest my innocence, and 
that would be useless on the face of such heartless falsehood as 
I have just heard. 

Cy.- — My Lord durst he so speak in your presence ? 

Sir Hen. — [cooly.] My Lord he trys hard to excite your sym- 
pa,J;hy. 

Cy.^ — His inverse method (which he frequently makes to ac 
complish an object) has been a scource of constant uproar in this 
village since the moment he betook himself within its boundery. 

Lord Allison — [gravely] Sorry bairn no doubt the bright future 
laid out by your hopeful parents, has been sadly prolific of but 



mmm 



41 

one series of unmasked detenrions In what locality were you on 
the evening of this terrible raurder? 

Sir Reu — My Lord if it occurred under the shadows of night, I 
was wrapp't in the seclusions of my bed chamber. 

Lord Allison— Under whose roof have you sheltered since you 
have, as you say "resumed the old standard?'* And who is likely 
to know the most about you? 

Sir Reu. — The prison roof has been my shelter for more than 
half the entire period of time that I have been here My Lord, 
though anybody in the village upon a second thought should 
know me. 

Lord Allison — [to Sir Henry] We can perhaps get some in- 
teresting facts from the gaoler. 

Sir Hen. — [very nervously] No My Lord his most anxious de- 
sire is that you shduid send for a man whom he knows, by a series 
of delusions and unsurpassable promises, he can get to aver any- 
thing. Your simplicity of the low class shocks me. 4 \r 

Cy. — [angrily but suddenly taken back] I protest, this man 
is so obtuse in his intellect that to employ his attention for an 
instant would be but a relapse of time. 

Lord Allison — -However, it is extremely essential that we 
should afford him every opportunity possible to establish his in- 
nocence. I am very favorably impressed with his demeanor 
throughout the entire proceedings. 

Sir Hen. — [more nervous than before] But, My Lord, these 
tricks are his sole reliance. He knows his only hope is in all 
characters of this stamp he can get. 

Cy. — [very nervously] My Lord, pray send for a man with at 
least ordinary endowments. 



>^J 



1 



42 

Lord Allison— If you have any particular antipathy to his 
coming he my remain. 

Cy.— [serenely] No, My Lord, only to save you the displeas- 
ure of his repulsive dialect. 

Lord Allison— I appreciate your kindness. And you Sir 
Henry Rollins, a keen conception of my feeling and interest, has 
has always been a noteworthy feature in your career. But [aside 
to Henry] we should give him a hearing at any hazard. The 
circumstances involved in this case are of a very serious nature, 
from the fact that the life of an innocent or gyilty man depends 
upon it. [to guards] Go deliver this to gaoler. ^ [to prisoner] 
Your former associates and their characters don't accord well 
with good raising. It in itself bears sufficient testimony to 
condemn you. 

Sir Reu.— [timidly] So be it My Lord; the truthful future 

will develope the secret. 

Lord Allison [gravely] Ah ! I fear the future will be too slow, 
for you, to bear the de&ired information, yes too slow. (Enter 
Tim through r. d.) (To Tim.) What was the conduct of the 
prisoner during the time he was under your charge? 

Tim,— Ah the rascal! Well I must say though, he acted like a 
big Lord ever since he came under ray roof. 

Lord Allison— (aside to Sir Heny) Is it possible he is so ut- 
terly void of understanding as this? [To Tim} You say as un- 
feigned as before that he entrusted to you no secrets ? 

Tim.— Faith, I do your honor. The main villain denied every- 
thing I'd ask him to the last. 

Cy.— My Lord he is suffering from a contusion which he re- 
ceived while in a state of intoxication. 



48 

Lord Allison. — Did he not, assisted by his frieuds, attempt to 
break forth from the prison ? 

Tim. — No your Honor, but I had a divil of a time to hould 
him. This gentleman (pointing to Cyrus) cum' last night an<l 
offered me some money to give him charge of my keys and I had 
to call the near peasants to help me. (Consternation.) 

Sir Henry — (with slight anger) It is just as I tell you My 
Lord, he is altogether unreliable from the fact that any assertion 
he makes is directed in the interest of his friend. 

Tim. — Faith and it's Katie that could tell you more about it 
than mesel. 

Lord Allison — (very much agitated.) Who? What Katie? 
(as if awakening to an understanding) This is astounding. 

Tim. — The little miss that lives under the same roof witii 
himsel. 

Sir Hen. — (more nervously than before) My Lord his impen- 
etrable ignorance shocks my whole nervous sytem. I would ex- 
hort your Honor to bring the proceedings to a speedy sequel, as 
you see this information will avail us nothing. 

Lord Allison — (To Tim.) Your testimony only tends to con- 
fuse me. My convictions are that your ill use of the crurskin 
has left you void of pour senses. 

Tim. — It's mistaken you are if you think I'm crazy. Do you 
think would I be fursayen anything fur the base murderer? If 
his gude parents knowed what a sad end he cum to, it's little 
theyed rest now. 

Lord Allison — What do you know about his parents? He i^ 
said to be an entire stranger here in the village. 

Tim. — (timidly) No your Honor but on the contrary everyone 



44 

in the village kiiaws him. It's mesel knawed when he was a bet- 
ter lad. 

Lord Allison — (To prisoner) Prisoner relieve your concience 
of a repulsive burden by openly confessing your guilt of the 
hidious crime and the debasing passion that prevailed upon your 
better rejson to concede to it. I must now pronounce the fatal 
words that will forever sever your connection with anything 
mortal. 

Sir Reu. — [with feeling] My Lord should the ghastly spectacle 
of his mangled form stand here now in the dread silence of death 
in readiness to confute any untruth, from me, Lnow solemnly de- 
clare before him who knows the secrets of hearts, to you, and 
before him the victim of some cruel wretch, that I am innocent. 
Enter Kate through L. D. 

Tim. — Now Katie, you touldt me — 

Cy. — Hush, hush [catches him by the collar and shoves him 
back] retire you are needed no longer. 

Lord Allis m — [Katie comes in takes left side of Sir Reuben] 
The gaoler imparts to us the startling information that you 
know the villain who murdered the late Quartus Mathen. Did 
the prisoner ever entrust to you the secret of his guilt? 

Katie — [timidly] No, your Honor he made no confession to me 

Lord Allison — (emphatically) Do you know the perpretrator ? 
[Sir Henry walks to and fro showing great emotion.] 

Cy. — Now My Lord you need no assuring words to prove the 
venialfcy of this girl; it's conspicuous to even our most intolerable 
adversary. She knows he is the base scoundrel that perpretrated 
the murder and takes silence as a weapon to defend him. 

Lord Allison — [To Katie] The mystery becomes deeper 



45 

and deeper every moment. Are you still reluctant? Then you 
confirm his assertion by still maintaining your peace, [arising) 
Prisoner your complacency is commendable, but from the power 
of the evidence received I must — 

Katie — [suddenly] O no [catching his arm] My Lord, there 
is the man [pointing to Sir Henry] there is the perpretator and 
there is his accomplice[pointing to Cyrus. Surprise and confus- 
ion all around.] 

Sir Henry in extreme despondency stammers "Who ? What ? '* 
Then drawing his sword he plunges it into his bosom but before 
he falls he utters these words "O delusions upon delusions that 
brought here and thus blasted forever my fondest hopes." Then 
sinking to the floor. 

Cy. — [suddeniy recovering. To prisoner] Ah ! your insatia- 
ble malice has at last found an aperture through which to work 
out your venemous designs. And you [rushing at Katie.] 

Sir Reu. — [pushing him back] Stop in time to save repentance. 
For though I have borne you as a masterpiece of deception, you 
may yet bring -upon yourself that which charity alone has de- 
nied you. Your friend and you belong to the same school. 

Cy. — [angrily. To Sir Reuben] Your future is framed ; 
your fortune is amassed and may they be your ruin. May the fruits 
of your ill-gotten gains bring desolation upon you and your whole 
posterity. O that you who caused his downfall, ever stand 
aghast before the relentless gnawing of everlasting flame, [turn- 
ing to Sir IJenry who lies on in the same position.] Thus do's as 
noble a soul as ever animated a human frame, fall miserably to 
the earth in despondency and ignomy at the becon of a be- 
grimmed beggar. Alas ! a woman's perfidy, insolence and utter 



46 

ignorance seem to have conquered the mighty Knight. Sure his 
faults were great, but his heart and hands were always open to the 
wants of the needy. Yes were they, every grateful denizen to 
shed one tear in remembrace of the many blesssiugs extended, 
we would no',v one all weep tears of bitter sorrow. Would to 
Heaven that I could cast my lot with his. For, if as it is said, (thai 
charity covers an. abyss of sin,) he sleeps to-night gloriously 
and triumphantly amid the glistening stars with Kim of legiouis 
forever and ever. 



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